


Fragile Skin

by BelladonnaLee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apples, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Don't copy to another site, Drapple (Harry Potter), Horror, M/M, Obsession, Other, apple tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25783942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaLee/pseuds/BelladonnaLee
Summary: Since the beginning of time he was here, watching and waiting. One autumn a young man came to him, a young man with muted-gold hair, snow-pale skin and ice-grey eyes.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Apple (Tree), Draco Malfoy/Male Character
Comments: 15
Kudos: 32
Collections: Rare Pair Shorts - Summer Wishlist Event 2020





	Fragile Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kent_Alex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kent_Alex/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Fragile Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26492470) by [Roritopopito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roritopopito/pseuds/Roritopopito)



> Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
> 
> A/N: Kent_Alex asked for Drapple. I did the best I could and came up with something closer to a dark fairy tale. I hope you don't mind?

Since the beginning of time he was here, watching and waiting, be it rain or shine, day or night. The four seasons passed him by with clockwork regularity: the flowering spring, the verdant summer, the harvesting autumn and the dead of winter. Standing tall and proud and alone beneath the ever changing sky, he watched the world for many moons and many seasons. He saw the world fall into ruins and rise again from the ashes and burn itself out once more. He saw humans come and go; they loved and hated and lived and died.

One autumn a young man came by the meadow. With muted-gold hair, snow-pale skin and ice-grey eyes, he was like winter but much more fragile. Standing tall and proud and alone before him, the young man reached up and plucked a ripe red apple from his limb. He shuddered when the stem broke off and bled, and the fruit fell into the young man's hand.

After wiping the fruit on his cloak, the young man took a bite while he watched on. Even though the fruit was severed from his body, he could feel every bite. Bite by tantalising bite his flesh was devoured by the young man until only the core remained, which the young man discarded—like a heart freely given and carelessly thrown aside.

Looking absent-minded, the young man wiped his mouth and licked his fingers, as though curious about the taste of apple on his own skin. The silent watcher watched on and shivered; his leaves rustled and nearly brushed against the young man's head. Ducking his head, the greedy young man picked two more fruits from his body and went on his way.

He thought about the young man sometimes, and he longed to touch him, to hold him, to shower kisses upon his cheeks with his white blossoms, to fill the young man's insides with his nectar and his flesh—but not yet. Time must run its course, and he was nothing if not patient. He could wait.

One day the young man brought along another man. The young man was no longer so young or so proud anymore, but he was still painfully young compared to this ancient land. The young man looked haunted, as though something inside him was broken—innocence perhaps—or dreams and promises. Even as the young man chuckled at something his companion had said, a shadow hung over him like death.

He trembled and sighed when the young man snapped off one of his stems and took a plump red apple from his limb. A thrill ran through him like a trickle of water; even the slightest of pain was exquisite. Without ceremony the young man sank his teeth into the fruit and pierced through the thin red skin, biting, kissing, licking, gorging himself with his watcher's flesh and blood.

The young man offered the fruit to his companion, who, staring at the young man with an intent, hungry look, took a bite. It was obvious that what his companion hungered for was more than just the apple in the young man's hand. They shared the fruit, eating their way down to the core, and thoughtless as always, the young man tossed the core into a pile of blemished, fallen fruits. The smell of mouldering apples filled the air, sweet and voluptuous as love and sin.

With a strange smile playing upon his lips, the young man leant forward and licked up the golden juice dripping down the corner of his companion's mouth. When his companion caught his arm, the young man kissed him and pushed him down onto the ground.

They tangled and writhed and moaned while he watched, their voices the only sound that could be heard in the meadow. The young man's pale skin bruised easily, he found, and he caught glimpses of scars and other marks. He was imperfect, and he was beautiful.

He knew everything about the young man, for a part of him was inside the young man. He saw everything, including the secrets the young man wanted to hide, and the young man had many secrets. He knew everything about his companion as well, but he did not spare him much thought beyond loving the young man through him.

When it was over, the young man and his companion stood up and got dressed. Before they left, the young man walked up to him and rustled his leaves ever so casually, ever so lovingly. The caress stirred him up and made him sigh, but it might have merely been the wind. After taking another fruit from him, the young man left with his companion, their hands clasped together and their sticky fingers intertwined.

The world returned to silence, and he stood alone.

Sometimes he thought about the countless bodies buried beneath the earth around him, dreaming and rotting like bruised, fallen apples. They had once been alive—and perhaps they still were—and they had tasted his fruits, ripe and ruby red and filled with the sweetest of poison. They could not forget the taste of his fruit, the taste of him. In the dead of night they dreamt of him, and in the end they always came back to him for more.

He wondered if the young man dreamt of him sometimes.

He too dreamt sometimes, of a time that had yet to come to pass, of a time that had already come to pass, and of a time that was happening right this moment.

When it was time, he would take the young man in his arms and hold him dear. With his love he would smother the young man until the thrashing and the screaming ceased, until all was silent—the absolute silence he loved. (Perhaps the young man would not thrash about or scream; perhaps the young man would calmly accept his fate and die into him.) He would bury the young man beneath him, and he would blossom and bear the fruits that the young man loved. In his dream, the skin of the fruits was fragile and translucent and the colour of blood.

He had patience, and he had all the time in the world to wait for the young man to return to him and become his for the rest of eternity.

* * * * * * *

_Finis._


End file.
